Touch and Feel
by highway-salvation
Summary: Dean and Ryan finally act on what they've both been feeling for the past eight years.


The Impala came to a slow hault under the luminescent red light. I could feel the tension starting to overwhelm the silence, and the absence of movement only highlighted just how nervous we both were. I could feel it, and I knew for damn sure that he could feel it too. His right hand sat idly next to mine, unmoving, and yet practically screaming to be touched. To be felt. I wanted so desperately to reach out, lace his fingers with my own, and feel the rough, calloused skin of his hand against palm. But I refrained. There were certain lines that were never really meant to be crossed, and I'd already pressed my luck by kissing him. The way he looked at me these days--like I was something to hunt--how could I even contemplate touching him again? No, it was better like this. It was better for our hands to remain lonely. At least that's what I'd make myself believe.

The green light finally blinked, lighting up the shimmering puddles of rain water that were scattered over the street. I exhaled, finding it odd that I'd actually been holding my breath the entire time we'd stopped. I didn't understand this effect he had on me. It never changed, it never faded. We could be in a room full of people and I'd still feel butterflies just locking eyes with him. But that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was the fact that his life was on the line, and I was the one that held the bill. The pressure was on my shoulders to either bring him back home or send him packing--and I was scared shitless.

Before I could interrupt the silence, he made a sharp turn into a motel parking lot. The confusion set in--considering we'd already checked into a motel and were on a slight time table--but that didn't seem to phase him. I glanced at him with a quizzical expression, hoping for some kind of explanation, but got nothing. He looked straight ahead, and eventually put the car in park in front of the line of rooms available at _Hampton Motel_. I couldn't even ask what we were doing before he was out of the car, walking towards the front desk. I watched through the glass door as he paid for a night's stay, my confusion now turning into complete bewilderment. He walked back towards the car but headed straight for the passenger's side. I took it as my signal to get out, but I didn't even get the door shut before he was pressing himself against me, shutting it with my backside. His palms rested on either sides of my neck as his face closed in on mine. My lips perked, but he wasn't going to kiss me. He was teasing me, wanting me to need him, and he was doing a damn fine job. Instead of continuing the charade, he took me by the hand and led me toward the motel room that he'd rented out. It was all clear now--the confusion completely fading. He'd been feeling the same thing I felt in the car, the same silent urge to reach out and touch--to reach out and feel.

We made it into the room, locked the deadbolt and threw the keys aside. And then he was back where he belonged--against me. It was hard to concentrate, it was even getting progressively harder to see. I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought him closer to me, almost forcing him to finally let our lips collide. We'd kissed before--but it was purely PG compared to the way I wanted to kiss him now. He pressed his lips against mine softly a few times, teasing me once again. This wasn't working. I didn't just want a little bit of him. I wanted all of him. Every single inch.

Finally, he stopped playing games. His lips fell on mine with insatiable hunger, and I complied by biting gently on his bottom lip. He grunted, now opening his mouth and forcing mine to open as well. I could feel everything--all of my insides heating up, my muscles flexing--it was all enhanced. His tongue against my own caused a moan to escape from my mouth into his, and I could feel a sudden hardness against my leg. The foreplay wasn't going to last much longer. This was a mutual itch that we both needed to scratch.

Quickly, I started to remove his clothing. One by one, I stripped off the leather jacket, the button down shirt, and the slim fitting tee always hugged his muscles just the right way. His belt came next, then his jeans, and finally his boxers. He stood before me completely exposed, and I was overwhelmed. My shirt was now being tugged over my head, and my bra unclipped. He surprised me by leaving my skirt on, just another signal that there was no more time to be wasted. I was on the bed before I could even kick my boots off, Dean's entire weight hovering over me. I could see the bulging of his muscles as he held himself up, locking his ominous emerald eyes with mine. He pushed up my skirt just enough to reach my underwear, which he tugged off of me in one swift pull. I watched as he leaned back down to kiss me once more, his tongue guiding along my bottom lip. I'd never wanted anything more in my life. My unmanicured nails dug into the bare skin of his back, causing him to groan into my mouth. He was trying to fight it--but he was losing the battle just as I was. I could feel him at my entrance, teasing me yet again. Part of me was angry, sick of the games--but the other part of me was aware that he just knew me too damn well. He knew that I wouldn't really enjoy it unless I wanted it so bad that I could scream. And that's exactly where I was. I bit harder onto his bottom lip, and forcing him to lose the fight. Finally, he pushed his entire length inside of me, his mouth leaving mine as he let out a rough grunt. I couldn't help but let out a moan, my mouth completely agape as he continued to thrust into me. My hips caught onto the rhythm and began to move with him, rocking with his own and intensifying each hard push. I couldn't think. I could barely breathe. Everything inside of me was on fire--everything inside of me was screaming for more. He was as far deep as he could go--but I wanted more of him. It was frustrating to think that this was all I could have.

With each little grunt and moan, I could feel his thrusts starting to quicken. He was getting close to his own finish line, which caused me to speed up as well. I could release at any time, but I wanted to wait for him. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against mine, his lips hitting mine unintentionally. We were both seconds away, but we both had every intention to make the seconds count. His lips were no longer unintentionally touching mine. He was massaging my tongue with his, allowing himself to take charge of my body in every way that he could. It was boiling to the surface now, with each rub of his tongue, each thrust of his length, each feel of his hands against my bare skin. We were both done for. I felt him finally release as a breath hitched in his throat, and I allowed myself to let go as well. The feeling was unexplainable, and shivers surged on every inch of my skin. His ear was next to my mouth as a moan escaped, letting him know that he'd succeeded in his task.

He rolled over after a few minutes of heavy breathing, and covered himself with a sheet. He extended his arm underneath me, and I happily complied and cuddled against his chest. His arm draped around me--and I knew that everything was alright. It didn't matter what was after us, who wanted us dead... all that mattered was that we were together, and that the unspoken emotions that had been bottled up between us were finally being let out. I glanced up at him, happy to see a smirk spread across his lips. I had a slight urge to tickle him, but I didn't. I did something a little bit more adventurous instead.

"I love you, you know," I revealed, looking away from his face--afraid of what his smirk might change into. The seconds seemed to tick by as slow as hours as I awaited a response. Would I even get one? I was terrified.

"I love you too, Singer. Always have," he replied huskily, and pressed a kiss into my forehead.

Everything was in its right place.


End file.
